“Pardon me, but there was no trade. We had sex because we like each other. I mean, what’s not to like?” I glanced at Bob again, annoyed to find him smiling at something Mia was saying. “Pryce heard us earlier, though. That’s the only reason I’m even talking about it. It was beyond embarrassing to come out of our room and find him scuttling down the hallway.”
Sienna frowned. “He does scuttle, the little pervert.”
“I’m sure he’ll tell Mom.” I hoped to God he would. “Then she’ll know Bob and I are legit.”
My sister raised her eyebrows as she had another sip of wine.
“What?”
She jerked her chin in the direction of Bob. “He doesn’t seem like your type.”
“What exactly is my type, again?”
Sienna blinked at me. “That’s exactly it. It’s been so long, I can’t remember. But Dean Smith wasn’t as hot as that, not by a mile.”
I sighed. “No, he wasn’t.”
“Well, maybe things have changed. Maybe you’re ready for some real action. I’ll pass you the torch.” Instead, she handed me a bottle of wine. “Just don’t get so hammered that you embarrass me or attempt to outshine me on my wedding weekend. By the way, I’ll have Tim check in with Bob. He should hang with the guys.”
“Thanks, Sienna.”
She winked at me. “Oh, and watch out for Mia. She ditched her boyfriend last week, and she’s looking to party. She’s totally slutty, you know? In a high-class, prep-school way, of course.”
I nodded tightly. “Of course.”
TSM, a.k.a. Totally Slutty Mia, was busy eye-fucking Bob as she leaned over to show him something on her phone.
I couldn’t bear to watch.
“Hiiiiii.” I slid onto Bob’s lap and was relieved to feel no raging boner pointed in TSM’s direction. “I missed you.” I kissed his cheek.
Bob looked dumbstruck—but only for a second.
He grinned up at me. “I missed you, too.”
My dad came up and clapped Bob on the back, hard. “Maddy, who’s this fellow?”
“This is Bob.” I sprang out of his lap and smiled nervously at my dad. My dad was sweet, but mostly useless; my mother ran the show. But Dad could be an ally if there was something I could give him in return.
Bob rose to his feet. “Mr. Delaney, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” He shook my father’s hand.
My father checked him out from head to toe. He didn’t see anything too offensive because he asked, “Do you play tennis?”
“Bob loves tennis,” I blurted out.
Bob smiled, but he looked tense. “I do indeed.”
“Well then!” My father rocked back on his heels. “Put down that beer, son. Tennis whites in twenty. See you on the clay.”
“Yeah. Great.” Bob kept smiling as my father practically skipped away.
My father loved tennis. He loved it a lot. He especially loved beating people. He really loved making his opponents cry. Or even better, cry and throw things.
He’d never had a job, so tennis was sort of his purpose in life. It was the outlet for a gamut of emotions, the biggest one being bossiness. My mother never let him be the boss. Tennis was my father’s kingdom, and he lorded over it with an oscillating gleefulness and petulance.
Bob turned to me. “How did you know I love tennis?”
I patted his hand, trying to console him, but I felt myself starting to panic. “I was just guessing. You said you loved sports.”